


Comfort

by fishlock_holmes



Category: Houdini & Doyle (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Possibly Pre-Slash, Possibly Unrequited Love, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 00:26:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6881809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishlock_holmes/pseuds/fishlock_holmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry notices the weight on Arthur's shoulders after Touie falls back into unconsciousness.</p><p>Spoilers for 1x03</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so for some reason this idea hit me right after watching In Manus Dei and it turned into my very first fan fiction. No idea why, but whatever. It's unbeta'd and kinda rough around the edges but I hope you like it anyway. This being my first and all, i'd really love to know what you guys think so kudos & comments are very welcomed. Thanks! :)
> 
> Update: edited and cleaned up a little. Enjoy :)

"Dinner was lovely." Harry said, in an effort to break the silence that had settled over the two men. They'd moved to the study for a quick nightcap before Harry would have to set off for home and had been sipping their brandies in silence ever since.

"Yes, quite. Vera's a wonderful cook. I don't know how we'd have survived as long as we have without her." Said Doyle, his expression falling near the end, making the shadows under his eyes even more pronounced, if possible.

It disturbed Harry. Those shadows were the reason he had accepted the invitation to dinner in Arthur's home tonight. Well, one of the reasons. Apparently when word got around to Mary and Kingsley that their father was working with Harry Houdini they had begged their father to let them meet him. Harry was all too happy to oblige, especially when it gave him an excuse to see Arthur in his natural environment. He'd even brought along some of his less... explosive illusions to entertain them and they'd gone wild with excitement.

"And your children are delightful. That Mary. Sharp as a tack. Did you see how quickly she caught onto my slight of hand?"

"Did she?"

"What, you didn't notice?"

Arthur shook his head. "She didn't say a word."

"Well, of course not. She didn't want to ruin it for her brother. That look she gave me. I've never seen a smirk so smug on anyone so young before."

Arthur smiled, making those shadows seem lighter somehow. "She gets it from her Mother." He said, his pride evident in his voice.

Harry laughed."Yeah. I gathered that. Did she inherit anything from you?"

"Honestly, I hope not. I'm an absolute mess if you can't tell. And don't think I don't know that was your reason for coming tonight." Arthur said, turning a slightly accusing look on Harry.

"Alright. You caught me." Said Harry, setting down the brandy glass and turning slightly to better face his companion.

"I'm worried about you." He said seriously, looking Arthur in the eye.

"Don't be. We're getting along alright."

"Your wife's health has just taken a drastically unfortunate turn. Arthur, your not alright. None of you are. Look yourself in the mirror, Doc. What do you see? Diagnose yourself."

"I didn't say we were alright, I said we were getting along alright. Of course we're not alright. But there is nothing any of us can do to fix things so we must simply continue on."

"You say that, but you don't believe it. I can see it in your face. You feel guilty. Like it's all somehow your fault. And it's eating you up inside. It's killing you, Arthur."

Arthur remained silent, turning his head away from Harry's intense gaze, neither confirming nor denying though his silence was answer enough.

"Why?" Harry asked. "Because you're a Doctor? Arthur, nobody could have predicted how her health would proceed from that point. It was an experimental treatment. By definition, no one had any clue how it would turn out. Not really. You can't control a disease Doc, try as we might. All we can do is arm ourselves as best we can and hope it's enough."

Arthur still wouldn't speak and suddenly Harry realized. This wasn't to do with medicine. In that regard, Arthur was completely rational, logical. He knew the limits of medicine and science and accepted them as truth. No, this was about his faith. An area far less structured or bound by reason. Somehow, Arthur had come to believe that he was in some way supernaturally responsible for what was happening to his wife. 

Harry scoffed internally, but knew he needed to take this seriously. Now was not the time for arguments about religion or the existence of magic. Not if Harry wanted to actually help his... friend? Colleague? Crime solving partner that he was irritatingly charmed by and inconveniently attracted to? No. Thoughts like that were not helpful right now, just distracting.

If he wanted to get this weight off of Arthur's shoulders, he needed to be sympathetic to his beliefs for once.

"Arthur." He said, to gain his attention. Arthur turned back towards Harry, his expression bleak and the shadows even worse.

"There is no possible way, in heaven or earth, that you are at fault for any of this. You're a man of overwhelming faith. You've searched high and low, trying everything you could think of. You've prayed, pleaded and begged, sought out spectialists from all corners of religion. Arthur, you have done everything you possibly could. You've run yourself ragged, gone above and beyond what any ordinary man would do, to help her. Yet still you manage to find the time and the energy to be a loving Father to your children, and to help them through their own pain. It's too much Arthur. You're not sleeping, you're barely eating, your dehydrated for gods sake!" Harry grabbed Arthur's dry hand for emphasis and shook it in front of the Doctor's face, as if he hadn't already noticed.

Arthur let out a huff of a laugh, "If it settles your mind, this is mostly water." He said indicating the brandy still held in his other hand. "I am a Doctor. I do know all of these symptoms already, thank you."

"Then do as I've requested. Diagnose yourself." Harry said stubbornly. He was glad to see some life back in those eyes but still unsatisfied that the author was taking this as seriously as he should.

Arthur sighed, swirling his water with a splash of brandy and watching the liquid move in a clumsy whirlpool. "Depression and extreme stress. Possibly the beginings of an anxiety disorder."

Harry nodded. "Sounds about right to me. And what would you perscribe, Doctor?"

Arthur closed his eyes and shook his head, but answered regardless, "A few days of rest, avoidance of stressors, a brandy," he said, holding his higher and opening his eyes before continuing, "time with loved ones, and..."

"A good lay?" Harry finnished with a smirk.

Arthur glared. "I was going to say physical affection."

Harry's smirk widened.

"Not necessarily conjugal in nature. You have a lewd mind, Houdini."

"I like to think so." Harry said, his smirk evolving into a more genuine smile. Both seemed to realize at he same moment that Harry still held Arthur's hand in his own, both of their gazes falling to the point of contact. Neither made any move to pull away, however, and Harry's thumb bagan to move gently over Arthur's slightly cracked knuckles.

Arthur closed his eyes again and inhaled deeply, simply enjoying the small comfort for the time being. He'd had very little in the way of physical affection as of late. He was, of course, an affectionate father. He hugged and kissed his children every night before bed and any other time they asked, never withholding his love. But the small affections he'd been able to share with Touie during her brief consciousness had been the most intimate he'd had since her illness began and he found himself craving a selfish kind of closeness now more than ever.

In truth, Arthur knew that Harry was right. He could see the kind of stress he had been putting on his mind and his body. But it was just so hard to care about himself when there were so many others who needed him. His children, his wife, the victims whom he, Harry, and Constable Stratton had been helping lately. But he was no good to anyone in the state he was in. 

Harry made a good argument. He should really just take a few days for himself. No cases, no research into possible cures, no skipping meals. Just some time away from all of that with his children. His loved ones... and maybe with a friend.

He hadn't realized how close to sleep he was until he felt Harry's other hand take the glass from his own to keep it from slipping. It then returned so that both sets of hands were linked as he helped Arthur to stand and guided him down the hall towards where Harry assumed Arthur's bedroom to be.

Once there, Harry sat Arthur down on the edge of the bed and then bent down to remove his shoes. That done, he started on Arthur's tie, then the buttons of his waistcoat and his shirt. 

Normally Harry would be delighted, but he knew this was not for him. Maybe someday, though ideally never. If Harry ever was allowed such a privilege, it would be because Touie had passed and he truly hoped that never happened. He couldn't imagine the devistation that would befall this home, this family, if her illness was already so deeply felt.

Once Arthur was down to just his under clothes and Harry had found the hamper to place the laundry, he pulled back the sheets and guided Arthur between them before turning to leave quietly into the night. He'd stayed much later than he'd meant to and it was doubtful he'd find a cab at this hour, but he'd just have to figure something out.

"Wait." Arthur said, turning over to face Harry's retreating figure. "It's too late to take a cab and I won't let you walk home in the dark. It's a new moon. Stay. You can leave in the morning."

Harry turned around and smiled, relieved to not have to face the near pitch black of London this time of month. "Sure. Where should I set up for the night?"

Arthur's brow creased then, having forgotten the house's lack of a guest quarters in his fatigue. Eventually he decided to just budge over to the far side of the bed in invitation.

"Really?" Harry asked.

"I was a ship's surgeon. Close quarters and cramped sleeping arrangements are nothing new to me. Unless you take issue?" Asked Arthur.

"None at all." Harry replied with a shrug and started on to a similar state of undress as his companion, folding each article of clothing and placing them on a chair in the corner to be worn again tomorrow.

By the time he'd finnished, Arthur was dead to the world, breathing deep and slow. Harry carefully slipped into the sheets and lay on his back staring up at the ceiling, just listening to the steady rythm of in and out, hypnotic and peaceful.

Until there was a subtle shift in the rythm, his only warning before he was suddenly enveloped by a muscular arm, Arthur's head on his chest and a warm leg wedged between his own. Harry froze, paniking and barely breathing, afraid that any movement might wake Arthur, before he began to slowly relax and bring his arms up to settle lightly around Arthur's waist. 'Just for a moment.' He thought. 'What could it hurt, really? To pretend for a few minutes and then move away. He'll never know.'

But then, he glanced down at Arthur's face and was surprised to see that he looked younger and far more at peace than Harry thought possible for the older man, those shadows already begining to dissipate. Harry smiled softly at the sight and decided to leave things as they were. Arthur needed someone and Harry was more than happy to be that someone, if only for tonight. Someone to simply lie there and hold him, to keep the nightmares and the real world at bay for a little while.

In the morning, they would brush it off as the movements one makes while asleep, the gravitation towards a heat source, or any number of other things. But for now, they would just sleep together, in the arms of someone who cared, and draw as much comfort from it as possible.

**Author's Note:**

> Thinking about possibly continuing with this. What do you think?


End file.
